


One hell of a favor

by CallieFlower



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, BAMF Lexa (The 100), Clexa is the main ship., Endgame Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Hopefully Feels, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I have very little patience, I wrote this to release my pent-up Clexa feels, I'll warn for possible triggers in the summary, Luna is that hippie-ish art teacher everyone has had at some point, Martial artists Gina and Lexa, Meet-Ugly, My First Work in This Fandom, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Raven is probably a genius, Slow Burn Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Strong Language, The 100 - Freeform, Why are so many 100 characters so well-fitted to an art school AU, art school au, because I guess they swear a lot., so many side ships, sort of slow burn, there may be some heavier stuff ahead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-07-08 09:50:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15927953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallieFlower/pseuds/CallieFlower
Summary: Several distinct groups of students study at a prestigious east-coast art college. Clarke has a less-than-friendly first encounter with Lexa Heda on a snowy Boston morning.Clarke needs a subject for her project, and asks the person she feels will best suit her piece.Before they know it, a full scale favor war erupts, entwining their lives together closer than they ever though possible.Inspired by the prompt: "I barely know you but I need to make a life-sized plaster form of a person can you please please PLEASE be my subject?"





	1. Don't break your bridges, especially not with water-based projectiles

An icy Boston winter breeze tore across campus, pulling Clarke’s hair from the hat under which it had been tucked and whipping her face. She had been standing at the dark and desolate bus stop for twenty minutes, and her nose and eyes were crusted with tiny ice crystals. Clutching the now-barely warm mocha in both her inadequately gloved hands, she squinted her eyes as best as she could and kept waiting, shoulders hunched against the ceaseless gusts.

Finally, mercifully, after what seemed like another whole eternity, the headlights of the bus showed up through the rapidly thickening snowfall. The sun was still fully hidden behind the horizon, and with a puff of relief, Clarke released one hand from her beverage, took her wallet from her purse, and hurried onto the bus.  _ Maybe I won’t be late to class after all. _

By the time she disembarked the bus on the other side of campus, the sun was emerging from behind it’s gray, snowy blanket of the horizon as the snow continued it’s persistent downfall. Clarke’s boots sank uncomfortably into the newly fallen embankments of snow as she cut across the field separating her from the building her first class was in.  _ What in hell was I thinking, signing up for a class starting at 5am?  _ She pulled open the doors and stepped inside, stomping off her boots and jacket while relishing the miracle of indoor heating. Inside, a long orange hallway stretched ahead of her, lined with various pieces of student-made art, ranging from sculpture to photography to painting. Starting off down the hallway at a smart pace, Clarke made it into class with three minutes to spare, slipping into the last open stool in the front row. Looking to her left, there sat a man with a completely shaved head and a multitude of tattoos. He was doodling a girl’s face on the inside cover of his sketchbook with a small smile on his face. His happy focus was interrupted when the class’s TA walked in, unaccompanied by Professor Jaha, their usual instructor.

“Hello, class, I’m Becca Pramha, and since your main professor cannot be here today, I will be filling in.” The woman smiled, and picked a paper up off the podium in the center of the classroom. “Today you’ll be getting a start on your end-of-quarter projects.” She read from the paper.

A murmur spread through the room. Nobody had mentioned an end-of-quarter project yet. Or the teacher’s unexplained absence, for that matter.

“The assignment is to make a sculpture with plaster casting. The only constraints are that you  _ cannot  _ use yourself for the casting.” The TA frowned at the paper. “He says it’s a team building exercise.” 

Another ripple of discontentment spread through the class. _Team building? This is art school, this is_ ** _supposed_** _to be competitive_ ** _._** Clarke looked over at the boy to her left, who was now making a blueprint with a grin on his face. She sighed in half-resignation, looking around the room.

All over the studio, looks of dismay turned to excitement as heads turned and excited invitations began. 

The TA cleared her throat, tapping on the paper to regain their attention. “Ahem. You have the class today to plan your sculptures, brainstorm ideas, do research, and enlist help.” She raised an eyebrow, “I’m not blind to your groups’ differences, but I will suggest that you enlist the help of the fashion students.”

There was a loud snort from behind her and an outward ripple of sarcastic whispers, causing Clarke to turn around with an annoyed expression. “Shush!” She hissed.

“What are you waiting for?” The TA said, “Get started!”

There was a great screech as thirty metal-legged artists’ stools moved backward, and they all began talking excitedly amongst themselves.

_ The library should be my first destination, I think. _ Clarke planned out her time in her head, silently making for the door and hoping not to be spotted. Before she could reach it, however, somebody tapped her on the shoulder, snapping her out of her thoughts. “Huh?”

“Hey, Clarke.” It was Finn, a student class-famous for his metal sculpture. “I was wondering if maybe you could be my model for the project?”

“Oh, um, sure!” Clarke said distractedly, “I’m heading to the library right now, though…”

“Right, I’ll let you go, I guess. Talk later!”  
With a sigh, Clarke left the room, donning her layers of winter clothing as she prepared to walk out into the cold morning once more. Steeling herself, she stepped out quickly, and was immediately doused in a deluge half-melted snow falling from the pitched roof, the force of the blow knocking her to her hands and knees. As she sneezed snow out of her nose, wiping it out of her eyes and scrambling around half-blind for her bag, Clarke heard giggling behind her.

When she turned around, it intensified. Three other students stood in front of her, laughing and pointing like sixteen-year-olds. Through her water-blurred vision, Clarke made out the faces of Emori, Anya, and a girl she did not recognize, with brown-black hair and a double-breasted, army-green longcoat. They were, without a doubt, design students. Clarke scowled. “What the hell was that for?”

“What? We weren’t responsible for the snow, we were just here to witness your predicament.” One of them tittered, flipping her hair back. “You’re rocking the drowned-rat look, it really compliments your figure- if you  _ had _ one!”

Stung, despite her better judgement, Clarke balled up a fist of snow and threw it at Emori, the one who had spoken. The wet projectile went wide and hit long-coat girl, who didn’t flinch at its impact, and simply kicked more snow into Clarke’s face with a booted foot, making her cough and sputter pathetically as she inhaled it.

Clarke hissed curses under her breath, wiping her face with the back of her glove, and scrambled to her feet. “What the  _ hell.”  _ She snapped, stepping confrontationally toward the girl in the green coat, before she spun on her heel and strode off, trying to ignore the quickly melting snow in her collar. Her eyes watered with cold and anger. 

Clarke breathed deeply as she sped toward the library, calming the anger she felt rising inside. She imagined what her friends would say to this. Raven’s voice already echoed in her head:  _ Oh, get over yourself, Clarke. They’re just traditional artists who can’t draw or think for themselves. Don’t waste your time by giving them another thought.  _ She smiled, imagining Raven beside her, confronting the others and helping her get her now-dampened bag.

At that, a wave a loneliness threatened to swamp her as she was awash with longing for the warmer, calmer days of high school where she and Raven still attended the same school. Heaving another deep breath, to clear her head, Clarke pulled open the huge double doors of the library. 

_ I’ll figure it out. Somehow. I have to. _

  
  



	2. We're all busy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which ideas are most difficult to come by.

_ I’ll figure it out.  _ Violet-black circles shadowed Clarke’s eyes as she stared at photos of statues in a book, mindlessly reading the various meanings and names of projects from classes past. Another ten minutes of this, and she’d be certifiably brain dead. Frustratingly, her mind remained blank. No magically new and original idea presented itself. Her classes had passed in a blur of stress and absurdly scented artist’s erasers (Niylah was wrong, they did  _ not _ smell like pizza) and she couldn’t seem to focus on anything. She buried her face in her hands, repeating the thought she had been saying like a mantra for the last three hours.  “I’ll  _ figure _ it out,” She said to nobody in particular. 

Her roommate, Echo, rolled over in her bed. “Can you  _ figure out _ how to shut up?” She groaned, “You’ve been mumbling for hours and  _ some _ of us are  _ trying _ to sleep.”

Clarke was too preoccupied to think of a witty response, and she just turned away and waited for Echo to stop talking.

The bedsprings in her ill-tempered roommate’s bed shifted once more as she turned back, pulling the pillow over her face.. Clarke let out a deep sigh and pulled out her phone, scrolling through her artwork portfolio.

Passing through the drawings from what she considered her ‘edgy landscape period’ and those from her ‘idealistic nature’ series, from a year prior, and skipped to the full portraits. Passing the artwork of her mother, her friends, and some random mermaids, she stopped scrolling at a photo of an exquisite drawing of a long-haired brunette girl. She had a serene expression, sporting butterfly wings and eye paint, while floating in a watercolored sky. 

Staring at the picture, something of an idea began to form, but as the wheels of her mind began to speed up, she slipped off the slope of wakefulness, into a dreamscape.

 

Clarke woke up at 4:30 a.m when her phone screeched her alarm. She was on her desk, her face pressing down on an array of pencils. She snapped her head up, remembering the events of the previous day. Turning on her phone, Clarke looked again at the drawing of the girl. Something was off, she knew, and Clarke surveyed it with a critical eye. Something was there that didn’t belong. After a moment of contemplation, she decided she didn’t like the serene expression on the girl’s face, or the cartoonish edges of her hair. 

“To be frank, the wings are slightly garish.” Clarke hadn’t noticed Echo come up behind her, and she spun the swivel chair to face her roommate. 

“You’re awake?” 

Echo ignored the jibe, “They take the attention away from the image of a girl in the stars. They’re just too bright and attention-grabbing.”

Clarke pretended to ignore Echo’s unsolicited input, but quickly pulled out her sketchbook, sketching out a rough version of the piece and this time putting bird wings on the girl’s back. She slammed down the pencil after a few minutes, however, “Damn it! Now she looks too much like an angel!” She hissed in frustration.

“That doesn’t sound like my problem.” Echo gave a dramatic sigh, “I’m going to change. Don’t look.”

“Don’t want to.” Clarke retorted halfheartedly, still deep in her thoughts. Staring resolutely at the images, she tried to discern the issue.  _ The shading is fine, the background is some of my best work, and to be honest, I couldn’t improve the body proportion much more if I tried.  _ As she pounded her fist on the table in frustration, her phone buzzed again, this alarm signaling the last minute for her to leave for the bus. “Shit!” She’d been thinking for far too long. She snatched her bag off the table, ran a hand through her hair once or twice, and then all but flew out the door, ignoring Echo shouting after her.

“Hey! I’m changing, what the hell?”

She was down the stairs in less than a minute, taking the final flight by sliding down the banister, and ran out the door, skidding haphazardly on ice as she exited the building. 

Thankfully, the bus stop was just outside her building, and she stopped herself from sliding into the street by grabbing onto the sign. Within moments, the bus pulled up, and Clarke got on, still catching her breath.  **_That_ ** _ will go down in history. _ As soon as her breath evened, Clarke pulled out her phone again and returned to the picture. Finally, her grand, insane idea clicked into place.  _ It’s certainly going to get the grade I need, but I’d best kiss my dignity goodbye right here and now. _ Her mind made up, she began formulating her plan to conquer the next obstacle. Finding a model. Pulling up a class list, she began comparing her fellow students photos to the face of the girl in the drawing. 

To Clarke’s surprise, there were exactly two people she saw who seemed to fit the facial structure of the girl in the painting. Niylah and Harper. As the bus stopped, Clarke hopped off, her heart lurching as she almost slipped again, catching herself on a fire hydrant. 

“Hey, Clarke!” Somebody was standing at the door, waving to her. She walked closer.

“Hi Niylah!” Letting out an awkward laugh, Clarke approached her,  _ well, here goes.  _ “Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to be my… model for the project in Human Sculpture?”

Niylah winced. “Sorry, I’m really busy in the near future, and I’m already working with Fox.”

_ There’s still Harper, right?  _ “It’s fine.” Clarke said, giving what she hoped was a nonchalant grin. “We’re all busy sometimes.” 

“I, uh, I have to go... to the bathroom.” Niylah turned and halfheartedly jogged away before rounding the corner.

Clarke made it to class in record time, finding Harper standing in the back of the room with Zoe. “Harper,” She said.

“Hm?” Harper turned around, “Oh, hey, Clarke. What’s up?”

“It’s about the end-of-quarter project. I was wondering if you would be willing to model for me for the end-of-quarter Human Sculpture project. I’m re-creating an art piece I made a while ago.”

“Sorry, Clarke, it sounds really fun, but Zoe and I are going home for Christmas, and I can’t.” Harper said, glancing over at her girlfriend. “Any other time, I’d be happy to…”

“I get it.” Clarke told her,  _ Now what?  _ “I’ll find somebody else.”

“I’m really sorry, Clarke.”

“It’s fine, Harper, really.” Clarke turned away from the conversation, flopping down onto a stool beside one of the paint-crusted art tables.

“Griffin!”

“What?” Clarke turned around. “Oh, hi Octavia.”

“Hey.” Octavia let out a huge yawn, rolling her shoulders and arching her back like a cat. “Geez, I went to bed at 2am last night.”

“Octavia! That’s  _ two hours of sleep. _ ” Clarke goggled at her, “ _ Two hours. _ ” 

“I mean, I have three power naps planned throughout the day, so I’ll live. Besides, I’ve only got three classes today anyways.” Octavia blinked, the sunlight making her eyeshadow shimmer. “How much did  _ you _ sleep.”

“Five hours.” Clarke told her sheepishly, “I was up until 11 trying to figure out what to do for the project.”

Before Octavia could say anything, the professor sauntered into the room, greeting the class. Though most of Clarke’s professors were somewhat eccentric, her Oil Painting Studies instructor single-handedly and altogether spectacularly took the cake. As opposed to a formal or honorific title, Luna preferred them to call her by her first name. She spoke in low, melodious tones that made you want to sit down and listen for a while. 

“Today, we’ll be painting animals, but with a twist.” To the outsider, Luna’s voice may have sounded disinterested and tired, but after spending months in her class, Clarke could pick up the excited undertones behind her...unique way of speaking. “I want you to add a twist from your imagination to one of these photographs.” She indicated the pile of laminated images lying on the table in the center of the room. “No doubling up.”

As Luna sat down, the class stood up, making their way over to the table with the images. Clarke grabbed two at random through the crush of people and looked at her selections. A snake and a wolf. She settled on the wolf and put the snake back.  _ I could use some lupine strength right about now. _ Along one entire wall of Luna’s painting studio were bottles upon bottles of oil paints ranging from eye-scorching psychedelic pink to deep prussian blue, followed by a massive array of brushes, both stores already being depleted by eager students. She left with at least ten different shades of gray and yellow.

Once Clarke was back in her seat beside Octavia, she began setting up her portable easel beside her supplies before setting her canvas down on the new perch. Moments later, Octavia sat down, holding three bottles of paint and a photo of a horse. “Hello again.” Octavia said, whistling a little tune as she set up her work station. “Nice wolf.”

“Don’t compliment me yet.” Clarke said absentmindedly, her mind was still firmly stuck on the assignment. 

“Oh, come on, Griffin, if anyone deserves pre-emptive comments, it’s you. You’re Luna’s star student.”

Clarke gave a wry grin, “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far.” Octavia looked at her. “But I’d go pretty close.” She looked over at the picture Octavia held, “Nice horse.”

“I agree. He looks like my boy Helios.”

It took Clarke a moment to realize that she was talking about a horse, not a person. “You ride horses?”

“Yeah. Thought about pursuing a career in it. In steeplechase, I mean.”

“Wow, isn’t steeplechase dangerous?” Clarke asked, squeezing dollops of paint out onto her palette.

“Well, yeah, I guess people do get trampled sometimes, but what’s life without a little risk, right?” Octavia said with a grin.

_ Damn. And to think I used of her as just ‘Lincoln’s Girlfriend.’  _ “Wow. What made you stop?” Clarke asked.

“My family wanted at least one kid to go to college, and since my brother’s in the military, that person was me.”

“I know Bellamy!” Clarke exclaimed, “We went to high school together. I think I remember him telling me about his little sister who rode horses.” She squinted at the shading on her painting before adding more gray, “He never told me how much of a badass you were, though.”

Octavia grinned, “Words don’t tend to do it justice. Got any pursuits of badassery of your own?”

“I do marksmanship.” Clarke told her, “I like to think I’m pretty good at it.”

“Do you hunt?” Octavia asked.

“Not anymore, my friends liked to sometimes, and I’d join them.” Clarke said, “And besides, I became a vegetarian after I started art school. New school, fresh start, right?”

“Lincoln!”

“Hm?” Octavia’s boyfriend looked up from his painting of a panther. 

“This girl is suitably badass to be one of us.” Octavia said, grinning at Clarke.

“Those last three words sounded quite ominous, are you inducting me to a cult?” Clarke asked in fake suspicion.

“If you consider a group of caffeine crazed college art obsessives a cult then I suppose so.” Lincoln said, with complete severity.

“All right then, count me in.” Clarke grinned, “Crap! I smeared the sun!”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a longer chapter, thanks for reading. We'll have some Lexa next chapter, I promise.  
> Please comment and kudos, my lovely flowers!  
> Until next time!  
> -Callie


	3. Popcorn etiquette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Raven fights somebody, Clarke makes a new acquaintance, there is a popcorn catastrophe, and Ontari knows more than she should.

Evening once more, Clarke sat at her desk, absentmindedly doodling a flower on the wood. She opened her laptop, logging in and finding Skype. After three rings, Raven answered the call. “Hey, Clarke, what’s up?”

“Raven.” Clarke put her head in her hands and said a single word, “Help.”

“Oh, god, what happened this time?” A moment later, at Clarke’s continued silence, she added, “Clarke? Hello? Earth to Clarke?”

Clarke let out a long, loud, and exasperated groan, “It’s the damned end of year project. Are you coming home for christmas? Maybe you could help me? I don’t want to lug a life-sized plaster cast home but I will if I have to.”

“What are you talking about?”

Clarke gave her the rundown of the situation. “And I swear to god  _ everyone _ is going home for the holidays.”

Raven rolled her eyes and the video feed froze, capturing her in a moment of perpetual annoyance. “I know, right?” The video resumed. “I’d love to come help, but I passed my test last month and Professor Sinclair says if I want to make rocket team I have to finish my entry design project.” Raven heaved a long sigh, “That means staying over Christmas.”

Clarke winced in sympathy, “At least it’s not a group project. My mom will miss you back home.”

“Yeah, Christmases with you and Abby are always the best. Hey, I might be able to put you in contact with somebody who’d be willing to help. She doesn’t tend to go home for the holidays.” Raven typed something into her computer. “I’m emailing her right now. Her name’s Lexa Heda. I’m sure she’ll oblige you.”

The microwave beeped. “One sec.” Clarke opened the microwave, taking out the cup and hissing as she singed her fingers. A moment later, she came back into the frame with a steaming cup noodles container. “‘Kay, I’m back.”

“Cup noodles, classy.” Raven smirked.

“Easy for you to say, we don’t all have Monty Green making us food every day.” Clarke shot back, slurping up her noodles.

A voice came from outside the frame, “Hi, Clarke!”

“Hi, Monty.” Clarke said.

“Monty, if you’re going to hijack my videochat, the least you can do is do it in person.” Raven exclaimed. Somebody waved a wooden spoon in the frame. 

Raven was about to add something when a lima bean hit her in the head. “Get out, Wick!” She yelled at somebody off camera as the computer was jostled. “You don’t even live here!”

“Monty invited me!” He exclaimed indignantly. “Hey, is that Clarke? Hi, Clarke!”

“Go away!” Raven yelled, throwing an empty coffee cup in what Clarke presumed to be his direction. “Why the hell’d you invite this ass, Monty?”

“I’d better go…” Clarke said, “I’ll call you later, Raven.”

“Gotcha, I have an insufferable engineer to beat up.” She stood up, shaking her fist threateningly at Wick as Clarke hung up the video chat.

With a sigh, Clarke shut the laptop and pulled out a pad of sticky notes to jot herself a note:  _ Talk to Lexa? _

Clarke glanced at her watch. It was 9 pm and she let out a tremendous yawn, stretching backward in an oddly catlike motion.  _ Maybe I’ll actually get to bed at a reasonable hour.  _ Scooping up her pajamas, she headed for the bathroom.

The moment she put on her warm black sleeping shirt, the fire alarm went off. Clarke startled so abruptly, she fell backward onto the icy linoleum floor before scrambling to her feet and running to the fire escape in her flip-flops.

Throwing open the door, a gust of cold air blasted Clarke in the face which, combined with her acute lack of sleep and the screaming of the fire alarm, threatened complete sensory overload. Dragging in a breath, Clarke was pushed outside by the next wave of people, the unexpected forward motion almost caused her to slide all the way down the icy steel contraption. She leaped off the fire escape, and landed in a group of people, all muttering amongst themselves. 

Clarke scanned her surroundings, bouncing up and down to cope with the acute discomfort of standing near-barefoot in five inches of snow. Most of the building’s inhabitants were already outside, but a few stragglers were still making their way out down one of the two treacherous fire escapes.

“Hey, are you okay?” Somebody asked from behind her.

Clarke turned around to see Ontari looking at her, a look of false concern written across her face. “Nice  _ pokemon _ shirt, slut.”

“Ex _ cuse _ me?” Surreptitiously, Clarke looked down at her shirt. Indeed, it bore a large pokemon logo emblazoned on its front.

Ontari giggled, “Come on, Clarke, everyone knows you sleep around more than those whores on television.” Her nose twitched in amusement, the way one would expect a rabbit’s to, “It’s practically  _ common _ knowledge!”

Clarke forced a sigh of annoyance, before abandoning her attempts at ignoring. “Oh, come on Ontari, don’t you have a life? This isn’t high school anymore, anyone would think you’d have picked up a hobby by now. I hear they have an opening in meditation class this quarter.” She snapped.

Ontari leaned in close, her breath ruffling the hair around Clarke’s ear, and whispered, “You know, your little  _ fling _ with Niylah went a little more public than you might expect. I know your big secret. Just keep that in mind,  _ princess. _ ”

Clarke turned away, feet stinging madly in the snow, but were nothing in comparison to the blooming worry spreading through Clarke’s head.  _ How much does she know? She’s got to be bluffing, Niylah swore secrecy! _ She looked over at the person to her right, still pointedly looking away from Ontari, who had just stopped talking. To her right was a girl with long, chocolate-brunette hair covered by a emerald green beret. Her face seemed vaguely familiar.  _ Do I know her from somewhere? _ “Do you think it’s an actual fire?”

Turning to her, the girl assumed a haughty and angry expression. “It is. The ass next door on the fifth floor blew up a microwave.” She exhaled sharply, bright green eyes flashing.

“I’m Clarke, by the way.” Clarke said, “And I like your hat.”

“I know.”

“What? That my name is Clarke or that I like your hat?”

“Both.” She said, “I’m Lexa. Your friend Raven has told me many things about you.”

“I see.”  _ Hold it. Shit.  _ Clarke realized where she had seen that face and green coat before.  _ She’s the girl from the Snowball Incident. _ Clarke let out a nervous laugh. “This is kind of forward, and I know we started off on the wrong foot, but I really, really need a model for my final sculpture project and you’re kind of perfect…” Clarke trailed off her ramble as she realized just how ridiculous she sounded.

“You threw an ice ball at me.” Lexa said, her voice even.

“I was blinded by snow.” Clarke pointed out, “That you kicked into my face.”

“You raise a valid point.” Lexa said after a moment’s pause. “I will help you with your project. Under one condition.” 

“What?”

“You help me with mine. My preliminary photos have probably been ruined by the sprinklers anyway.” Lexa sighed, “Fucking Murphy and his fucking ideas about fucking popcorn etiquette.”

Clarke said nothing, staring at the fire trucks as they sprayed into the window of Murphy’s apartment. “My feet are freezing.” She whispered.

“Jesus! Clarke, are you  _ barefoot? _ ” 

“I have flip flops on…” Clarke said, before adding, “ _ I’m so cold. _ ” 

“Raven said you were the rational one.”

“Where do you know Raven from, by the way?”

“We met at a chess tournament.” Lexa said, “Do you play?”

“I do, actually, I like to think I’m pretty good.” As Clarke spoke, the fire truck began pulling back from the window, cutting off the hose power. “I met Raven at school. I was being harassed by this guy, and she decked him.”

Lexa raised her eyebrows and grinned, “That’s Raven for you.” Whatever else she was going to say was cut off by a firefighter speaking through his megaphone.

“It is now safe to return to the building, though floor five will remain evacuated for the time being.” The firefighter set down his megaphone and turned to 

Lexa turned away from Clarke, blinking her eyes rapidly. “Oh, oh, crap.” She covered her mouth. “Oh _crap._ _All my stuff_ will be completely _soaked!_ ” She stomped her foot, scattering snow everywhere. “I don’t even have anywhere to _go_.”

Clarke’s stomach clenched. Should she offer her room? No, that’d be creepy. She only just met her, anyway. Instead, she said, “Go tell them about it in Admin, you’ll get a temp dorm with the others.” Barely restraining herself from cringing at the awkwardness of the moment, she fought down the myriad of emotions that surfaced with Lexa’s admission, turned and joined the slow line of shivering students sluggishly bottlenecking at the door.  _I look forward to figuring you out, Lexa Heda._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, thanks to all you splendiferous flowers for reading my work. I'm thinking of making a the 100 lifeguards au, what are your opinions on that? Either way, leave your opinions on that, and my work if the comments, if you are able to. They make my day and help me grow as a writer.  
> ~Callie


	4. Mental betrayals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lexa is frustrated with most aspects of her situation, and then Clarke happens.

_ Why did you agree? Why? _

Lexa speed-walked away from the building, blinking back tears of frustration at the possibility of her ruined artwork.  _ There are more important things right now,  _ She told herself,  _ Like finding somewhere to sleep. _

_ Why, though? _

_ Why do I do anything? Because she’s hot. _ Lexa slapped a hand over her mouth even though she didn’t say a word. Stopped in her tracks with her eyes wide with shock, she knew she was obstructing the path of the students behind her, but her face was simultaneously stinging and numb and she couldn’t move her mind let alone her feet.  _ I did not. She’s not. I’m n- _

The snide voice of her inner monologue cut her off, _I knew it._ _You’re_ ** _soft._** Lexa still flinched, despite knowing the voice was a figment of her imagination. She forced herself to start walking.

_ I am  _ **_not_ ** _ soft. I had a lapse in judgement, that’s all. _ Lexa chided herself, before feeling exceedingly stupid,  _ Now, stop harassing me, you’re just my imagination. _

_ Oh, Lexa, you know as well as I do that your feelings are weaknesses.  _ The thoughts were as biting as if a voice had really said them,  _ Every. Last. One. _

_ Shut  _ **_up_ ** _!  _ Shaking her head to clear the mental betrayal, she entered the admin building and walked up to the desk. “I’m from floor five of the dorm that just had the fire. Can I request a temp dorm until the floor is cleared?”

The tired-looking receptionist looked up. “Huh? Oh, yeah.” She had Lexa sign some paperwork and then slid some keys and a paper over the table. “You’ve got room 481, dorm building 6. Do you need a map?” She phrased the last question in a distinctly pointed fashion.

“No, thanks.” Lexa replied curtly, snatching the paper and key from the counter. “Thanks.” She added for good measure, before spinning on her heel and leaving the office in a huff. Despite her valiant efforts, no matter how much she blinked, she couldn’t shove Clarke’s wide, sparkling eyes out of her head.  _ Damnit Lexa, get it together. _

Her phone buzzed, and she checked her notification. 

**Message from Raven: Clarke wants to meet you saturday morning, that cool?**

Lexa typed back:  **Sure, sounds great. Tell her to meet me at Arkadia Coffee.**

Raven:  **Can do. Try and get her number next time.**

Lexa rolled her eyes.  _ How on earth did I get myself into this?  _ Before she could search her mind, a gust of wind blew a barrage of icy snowflakes into her face, making her cough and sputter, wiping her face on the back of her coat sleeve.  _ She’ll owe me favors, at any rate. _

Catching up to the other floor five refugees headed to the same place as her, and they completed the long, cold trek to DB6, complaining and muttering the entire way. The moment she made it to the tiny, undecorated room she was to share with five other students, she leaned against the wall, leaned her head back against the hard surface, and let out a loud and prolonged groan of frustration. 

Ontari looked up from her phone. “Just so you know, I’m not sharing a bed with you.”

Immediately, the other girls chorused, “Me neither.”

Lexa blinked, “What?” This was absolutely ridiculous, “Why! Where will I sleep?”

“Sorry, Lexa, I just don’t feel comfortable sharing a bed with a  _ lesbian.  _ Can’t you just sleep on the floor?” Ontari blinked innocently at her, “We’re still chill, right?”

The remaining girls from Ontari’s posse muttered something similarly along those lines.

Lexa recoiled slightly, glancing at the uncomfortable-looking hardwood boards, coated in dust. They were practically an allergy attack waiting to happen. “I-” Her reply was cut off when Ontari raised The Eyebrow. Nobody argued with The Eyebrow, not if they valued their secrets. She ducked her head, “Okay.”

Later that night, Lexa curled up in the corner of the room furthest away from the beds, in one of which the girls were crammed four to the bed, Ontari sprawled out across the entirety of the other, already asleep.  _ I ought to dump a glass of cold water on the bitch’s smug face.  _ She was momentarily tempted by the idea, but before her common sense could stop her, she slipped into the warm abyss of sleep.

 

Lexa blinked her eyes open as Ontari’s phone went off. At 5am.  _ On a damn weekend? Goddamnit Ontari. _ Rubbing her eyes to clear away the sleep, she blearily stumbled over to the place the kitchenette should have been, before remembering her predicament and then her morning engagement. To her surprise, followed by disgust with herself, she felt a little thrill of excitement at the thought.

“Can somebody tell Lexa to get a move on and stop acting like a kicked puppy?” Ontari grumbled, making a shooing gesture at her. “Get dressed, we need a model, Lexa.”

Lexa’s stomach growled, and she was struck with a small bolt of panic. “Ontari…”

“What.”

“I can’t do anything today…” She said hesitantly, hunching her head back on her shoulders.

“Why.” Ontari demanded, sitting up. “We  _ need  _ a model, and you  _ always _ do it.”

“I have… prior arrangements?”

Ontari snorted, “Since when does  _ Lexa Heda  _ have a life?”

Lexa recoiled, “Since you started making me sleep on the  _ floor. _ ” She snapped, snatching up her jacket and storming out of the room, “Go find somebody else to model for you.” Slamming the door, she half-sprinted down the hallway.

“You’ll regret this, bitch!” Ontari called after her.

Lexa ran halfway to the coffee shop, powered by her anger. It only faded as she passed a row of deadened trees creaking in the winter breeze, and she began to realize just how much she  _ would _ regret this later.  _ But now’s not later, is it. We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it.  _ Almost slipping into the road on an all-but-invisible patch of black ice, she ceased to run. Looking up, she shivered, seeing the masses of thick, white, and puffy clouds rolled out across the sky above her, promising a hefty load of snow to come. She quickened her pace, anxious to get inside as an icy breeze ripped down the street, slipping in through the gaps in her coat and making her teeth tempted to chatter.

Before she knew it, she had arrived at the brick-and-mortar building housing Arkadia Coffee, warm lights twinkling warmly within. Despite the obvious preferability of the interior climate, Lexa paused for a moment, considering.  _ Last chance to turn back. You could always say you’ve got the flu or something. _ She hesitated for a moment, then remembering the irate Ontari she’d have to face when she arrived back in the room, her doubt faded, and she pushed the door open.

Being inside was a drastic change from the gray, black, and busy atmosphere outside. In the cafe it smelled like coffee, hot chocolate, tea, and fire in the most pleasant sense. The circular, enclosed fireplace in the center added to the atmosphere of merriment and productivity (and lots and lots of caffeine.) In the corner of her eye, Lexa saw somebody waving at her. As she looked over, her heart fluttered a little as she recognized Clarke. She chided herself,  _ stop it! Keep your cool!  _

Seating herself on the tall stool across from Clarke’s window table, she allowed herself a shy smile in Clarke’s direction. “Seems you’re looking a bit more put together than the last times we’ve seen each other.” She remarked, taking in Clarke’s outfit combining boyfriend jeans and a gray cashmere turtleneck.  _ And I thought  _ I  _ was the fashionable one! _ “I like your jeans.”

Clarke smiled. “I’d certainly like to think so.” Pretending to glance around, she added in a whisper, “It’s all a lie.”

Lexa couldn’t help but grin at that, “Shall we talk projects?”

“Absolutely. I was hoping it would be possible to get some of the casting done this afternoon, since I’m usually pretty busy during the week.” Clarke said, glancing out the window at the people walking down the Avenue.

Lexa nodded, “That sounds great, we could even do it right after this if you don’t have anything else planned…” She paused,  _ shit. Was that too forward? _

To her surprise, Clarke grinned, “That sounds awesome!” She noticed Lexa surreptitiously eyeing her coffee. “Can I get you something?”

Lexa’s heart skipped a beat, “I- um...N-no? Thank you.” She stammered, blushing madly. “Thanks you. I mean thanks.”

Clarke smirked, “I insist. Really. It’s not a problem.” She made to stand up.

Lexa grabbed her sleeve. “Wait!” Clarke turned around, a funny expression on her face, “I mean, why not… show me the painting you’re basing your sculpture on!” Lexa laughed awkwardly, hoping she didn’t look to insane, leaning across a table while gripping Clarke’s arm with both hands.

“Er… okay?” Clarke sat down, tugging her arm away from Lexa’s, and opened her phone, “Just a second.” She scrolled for a moment and then selected an image, turning the screen to Lexa, “This is it.”

“Whoa.” Lexa couldn’t look away from the painting, “Your brushstrokes really showcase the dramatic lighting of the scene.”

Clarke blushed slightly, saying, “Obviously you know the best way into a girl’s heart is to complement her art.” She smiled, “Truly, a woman of class.”

Lexa slipped off her chair, landing neatly on her booted feet, and offered her arm, “Shall we, fair maiden?”

Clarke took it, smiling “We shall.” She added decisively and marched them toward the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all you cute peonies for waiting for this chapter. Schools been pretty tough on me lately, but I'm glad I was able to finally get this out! I worked pretty hard on it, and would absolutely love some feedback, so that'd be great, but otherwise, I'll see you next time, hopefully!  
> ~Callie

**Author's Note:**

> Thank your for reading, my lovely flowers, I hope to see you again for the next chapter, hopefully out within a few weeks!  
> Please comment and/or kudos, it makes my day and it only takes a second, comments on my writing are greatly appreciated, constructive criticism included!


End file.
